


My Only Peace

by BernRul



Category: Watchmen (TV 2019), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Minutemen, Nelson fakes his death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Pre-Television Series, Redemption, Self-Loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BernRul/pseuds/BernRul
Summary: Two years after faking his own death, Nelson Gardner finds himself across the street from his old mansion. He's just looking, that's all. Just to see if Will accepted. After that he'll disappear back into the shadows, to never see his ex-lover again.That's what he tells himself, anyway.
Relationships: Hooded Justice/Captain Metropolis (Watchmen), Will Reeves/Nelson Gardner
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

Nelson sits on the steps across the street from his old mansion, desperately trying not to be seen.

Well, technically he wasn't Nelson anymore. Nelson Gardner was dead, killed in a car crash that was so bad his head had never been discovered. The man across the street from the house was Chuck Forrest. It said so on all of his identification. This wasn't new for him. All of his life, he'd been trying to reinvent himself, from the time he was a sickly, asthmatic boy. Back then his biggest hero was Theodore Roosevelt, who'd also had asthma as a child. His example inspired Nelson to join the Marines. Later, he tried to reinvent himself as a, ahem, respectable member of society through his brief, disastrous engagement to that Vanderbilt girl. His father threatened to disown him after he'd broken it off. Not because he suspected anything untoward from his blond-haired, blue-eyed son, but because of the financial loss.

Then, of course, came the fateful morning when he opened the _New York Gazette_ to read all about the first costumed adventurer.

He'd been inspired by William's example yet again when he decided to fake his death. Will hadn't _died_ in 1955, though it almost felt like it at times. Will had made it perfectly clear that, for all intents and purposes, they were dead to each other. At the time, Nelson had been angry. Now he was sick with shame.

So Nelson Garner disappeared. Good riddance. Chuck Forrest could be the free spirit the blond boy scout never could, no longer tied down by wealth or propriety or the "good old days." Chuck could travel the country with just the cash in his pocket. He even made it as far as Vietnam, but immediately regretted it. Something about it reminded him of Nicaragua and Haiti.

New York was the one place he swore he'd never go. It stank of Nelson Gardner and his naive idealism, his hypocrisy, his childish playing pretend.The closest he got was Philadelphia, for the bicentennial. But even that was too tempting. The lure of the city was too much.

So here he is, on a warm July morning, newspaper blocking his face, perched on the steps of a brownstone across the street. He's only here to check if Will accepted his bequeathment or not. Will won't even know he's here--if Will even accepted in the first place (he probably didn't).

Nelson starts to feel foolish by the second hour. By the third, he's ready to give up.

That's when the door opens.

An older black man steps out. He looks to be between his fifties and early sixties, judging by the lines on his face and the gray sprinkled in his hair. Despite his age, he still looks to be in peak physical shape, taller and broader than most men can dream of being. 

William Reeves. It's been twenty-one years, but Nelson would recognize him anywhere.

His heart pounds. His stomach twists in a way that's not entirely unpleasant.

Will accepted. He can't believe that Will actually accepted.

Of course, there were lots of reasons why Will might accept. It didn't mean that he had forgiven him, or that he still cared for him in any way. He probably didn't, after all. Some wounds ran too deep, and Nelson _had_ wounded him. He understands that now. 

Nelson stands up. He's too old to sit like this, based on the way his knees scream at him. He folds the newspaper under his arm and makes his way down the street. He wonders, briefly, if he should stay in New York now that his mission is complete. Maybe he should return to Philadelphia. He can still make it in time for the bicentennial, if he leaves by tonight. 

"I thought you were supposed to be dead," a man's voice growls from behind him.

Nelson turns, startled. Will Reeves stands right behind him, expression as inscrutable as ever. 

"I-I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean," he stammers.

"You're losing your touch. You used to be so good at tactical maneuvers," Will says. "Used to be that I couldn't get a drop on you."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you have me mistaken for someone else," Nelson says. The streetlight flicks to green, so he quickly darts forward. 

Will's hand clamps down on his forearm. 

"Cut the bullshit, Nelly," he says. _Nelly._ William had called him _Nelly,_ of all things. His heart knotted up in his chest. "You can't fool me. What I'm trying to figure out is why."

"I-" he starts. His eyes dart around the crowded street, as if that will somehow save him. His fellow New Yorkers treat him like he is invisible, which figures. "I can explain."

"Let's not do this here," Will said. "Come by the house at seven tonight. We can talk then."

He walks off before Nelson can think of a response. 


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you mean, it's over?" Nelson asked, gripping his fork like it was a weapon. He sat in a nondescript diner by William's apartment, where they sometimes met when they wanted to avoid the prying eyes of their caped comrades. The typical patronage were transients and night shift workers, people so exhausted and bleary-eyed (or drugged out, he inwardly scoffed) that they didn't spare a second glance at the table where the well-dressed white man and uniformed black officer sat. 

"How many times have you warned me against showing my face?" William said blandly.

"I agree that you shouldn't reveal yourself to the committee," Nelson said in his most reasonable and pragmatic tone. "But I don't see why you have to stop being..." he lets his voice trail off as a dead-eyed waitress passes by. "I don't believe that you can, William. You've always been the fighter, the most heroic out of all of us."

His words didn't seem to phase Will. His face was as much a mask as the hood, giving away nothing.

"I don't know about that," he said. "But I wasn't talking about just the committee. I was also talking about us. _We're_ over."

Nelson felt cold. His stomach clenched. He wasn't sure how he long he sat there, under the glow of the florescent light, trying to process his words. He and William had their share of disagreements and fights throughout their tumultuous sixteen year relationship. They seemed more frequent as the years went on. Yet they still stuck it out. It never got to the point that they--that--

"Don't be so dramatic," Nelson finally said. "Is this about that Cyclops business again?"

Will clenched his fists on the table, but he didn't raise his voice. That wasn't his style. His anger was a kind of tranquil fury, a beautiful day turned to a downpour in the blink of an eye.

"That's one part of a larger problem," he said. "Which you should already know all about, Nelson, cuz I've talked about it often enough over the last few years. I suppose I finally realized there's no point talking to someone who refuses to listen."

"Don't be absurd," Nelson said, throat dry. "I--I love you."

Normally those words were only uttered in the privacy of his bedroom. Nelson was shocked by his own boldness, even if the nearest person was the snoring bum two tables away. He must be desperate.

William shook his head. "You've only ever loved the mask, Nel. It sure as hell wasn't the man underneath it. I've already made up my mind. I'm leaving the city once my retirement goes through--it's time I see more of the world than Tulsa and New York. Don't try to contact me. Don't pester Sally about where I am." 

"William--" Nelson gasped, not knowing what else to say, his brain too fogged up with denial.

Will stood up. "I'm done, Nelson. I don't want to see you again."

He leaves Nelson alone at the booth, with no one but the sleeping bum for company.

In the end, he couldn't resist.

The brownstone mansion is virtually unchanged since Nelson owned it, minus the Minutemen memorabilia. There are no personal touches to show that a man named William Reeves lives here now, save for one: a pocket-sized photograph, tucked into the corner of a mirror, of a young black boy. Most likely his son. Nelson's pretty sure the boy's name is Marcus.

 _Though he's not a boy anymore_ , Nelson realizes with a jolt. Marcus must be at least thirty by now. That fact makes Nelson feel his age like a crushing weight.

"I'd tell you to have a seat," Will says, putting two glasses of brandy on the coffee table as he sits on the sofa, " but seeing as this is _your_ house, it feels out of place."

"It's not my house anymore," Nelson says. All the same, he follows William's lead, taking a seat across from him. "Legally, it's yours."

Will stares him down, face as inscrutable as ever. He's still handsome, even after all of these years. 

"I thought you were dead," he says.

"That was the plan," Nelson says. He's having trouble meeting William's intense gaze. "Of course, I had to go and mess it up."

"Why?" William demands. "Why in God's name would you do a thing like that?"

Nelson turns his head away. This is all too much. He never thought he'd be here, justifying himself to Will Reeves. Not after the night at the diner. 

"I suppose I didn't want to be Nelson Gardener anymore."

"So you faked your death? Seems a bit dramatic."

The corners of Nelson's mouth tug up slightly. "You were the one who always said I had a flair for the dramatic."

Will snorts. It doesn't do much to soften his expression. "Yeah, that was obvious when you said that you didn't deserve to have a funeral. Jesus Christ, Nel."

"You read my will?"

"I wasn't going to accept, when your lawyers first found me. That is, until they showed me your will."

Nelson's dying to ask why. He's so pathetic in his desperation for the smallest shred of acceptance or affection. What a fool. He knows that he hasn't earned anything but Will's scorn.

He stands up. "I should go."

"Are you kidding?" Will says. "It's our first conversation in twenty years, and you want to leave already?"

"I'm trying to respect your wishes," Nelson says. " _You_ said you never wanted to see me again."

"You weren't too concerned about that when you were sitting across from my house," Will points out.

"I--I just wanted to see if you accepted my will. I wasn't planning on being seen."

"But you were. You're here now, so let's talk. Goddammit, Nelly, I thought you were dead."

"And now you know that I'm not," he says, inching away from his seat, from Will. He's not sure why William keeps harping on about it. "We both know the truth, so we can move on. I don't know what else there is for us to discuss."

Will stands up and grabs his forearm. It wasn't rough--not as rough as he knew that William could be--but Nelson feels a thrill run up his spine. That's all it takes to undo him: one simple touch.

"You aren't hearing me," William says through gritted teeth. "I thought you were dead. Don't you think I'd want to talk to you for more than a minute?"

"But why?" Nelson asks, finally looking him full in the face. "I thought you hated me. You _should_ hate me after everything I've done to you."

"I never hated you," William says. What was that expression on his face? Sadness maybe. Or regret. "I was angry, yeah. Real angry. I was disappointed too, and a bit disgusted. But I never hated you."

"W-w-well you should," Nelson says. Tears form in his eyes, but he won't let them fall. He can't be weak. "I lied to you. I betrayed you. I put my greed before you. I put my prejudice before you. I let racism blind me, I--" 

"Nelson, I know," Will says loudly. "I was there, I don't have amnesia. I did read your will, though. Maybe I'm growing sentimental in my old age, but I believed what you wrote. When I read it, I thought, 'It's twenty years too late, but he finally gets it.'"

"I'm so sorry," he says through hitched breaths. The tears fall freely down his face. "You were right the entire time, Will. I was so blind, so stupid."

"Come here, you old fool," Will says quietly, pulling Nelson into an embrace.

There's nothing romantic about it, nothing sexual. Nelson feels like a child, clutching at Will's front like a life jacket. All of the dignity of the former soldier and hero is forgotten as he rests his head on Will's shoulder, letting the tears soak into the other man's shirt.

"I'm sorry," he cries. "I don't know how you can forgive me."

Will pats his back gently.

"I don't know if I have forgiven you," he says. "At least not yet. I've gotten a lot of hate in my time, but somehow it hurt more coming from you. But when I heard you were dead, when I read your will--well, I can't lie, it made me wish we could talk just one more time. So I'm not angry any more. I've been so angry for so long, about so many things, that it's a relief, not to harbor those feelings towards you anymore."

Nelson lets himself be held. There's something soothing about being in Will's arms again, bringing back memories of when they were both younger men. William hasn't forgiven him, but he doesn't hate him, either.

For now, that's enough. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This one leans more heavily into the "period typical homophobia" and "period typical racism" tags. If you've seen the episode "This Extraordinary Being" (and if you haven't, you really should before reading this fic) than you have an idea of what kind of content will be referenced. There's also a lot of self-loathing/mental anguish on Nelson's part.

William insists he stay the night, and after a token protest, Nelson agrees. To his surprise, William leads him to his old bedroom.

"But it's the master," he says, confused. "It should be yours."

"Didn't feel right," Will mutters, and that's all the explanation he'll give. 

It's exactly as Nelson left it two years ago, with one notable addition on the mantelpiece: a framed photograph of the original Minutemen at the height of their glory. 

Nelson stares at the youthful faces of his comrades. They're all old or dead or disgraced now. He sees his younger self, brimming with confidence that bordered on the absurd, standing close to Hooded Justice, who looked like a god among men. Even in the black and white photograph, his desire for closeness is obvious. How he couldn't resist the back pats and shoulder clasps, or any of the other myriad of socially acceptable touches that always lingered a little too long. 

Little wonder that their relationship became an open secret among the Minutemen.

Nelson sinks into the old familiar bed, but he already knows he'll have trouble sleeping that night. After all, this was the very place where he and Will made love for the first time.

"Making love" was probably not the right term for it. He'd lusted after William from the moment he first appeared in the _New York Gazette._ At first he told himself that it was simply admiration, but it was the beginnings of a school boy crush, the kind that used to keep him awake at night in the boarding school dormitory, intrigued and disturbed at the same time. 

After his brief meeting at the Reeves' home, he reached two conclusions: that young Officer Reeves was not a simple courier but Hooded Justice himself, and that there was a spark between them. 

He cautioned himself. He'd become quite adept at recognizing the subtle cues that men put out, but he'd been wrong before. One of those wrongs resulted in a black eye and cracked rib, which he passed off to his fellow Marines as the result of a drunken fall after a night partying. Luckily, the other officer was too embarrassed to tell their superior, or else Nelson would've lost more than his pride.

It goes without saying that Will wasn't what he expected, but it didn't take long for him to fall head over heels.

To stave off the early morning awkwardness, Will suggests they go out to brunch. The diner is similar to their old meeting place, though slightly more upscale. IT reminded him, bitterly, of their last conversation together.

 _Don't think about that now,_ he tells himself. Not when William is actually speaking to him. 

"Don't worry," Will mutters, opening up a newspaper. "If anyone asks, we're two retired cops catching up."

Nelson bristles a little. "I'm not worried."

And he's not. There was a time when that's all he'd be thinking about, but those days are long gone.

"Isn't that your friend?" Will says, jabbing at a black and white photo of Adrian Veidt. "Ozy-man-mouthful-of-a-name?"

He snorts. "I wouldn't call him a friend exactly. We've barely spoken since my, uh, bout of foolishness in '66."

The waitress brings them their coffee. Nelson doesn't wait for the scalding beverage to cool off. He's too eager to do something with his hands.

"Speaking of Veidt," he says, "he told me an interesting theory about you."

"Oh yeah?" Will raises an eyebrow.

"He investigated Hooded Justice's disappearance before I ever formed the Crimebusters. Apparently, it led him straight to Eddie Blake. Eddie mistook him for a criminal, and beat him up."

William chuckles. "You don't say."

A smile twists at Nelson's lips. "Adrian concluded, based on your documented feud, that Eddie killed you back in '55."

His expression darkens. "As if that sniveling little pissant could ever get the drop on me. I should've snapped his worthless neck after he attacked Sally." 

"That probably would've been for the best," Nelson agrees. "I thought it best to let Adrian believe his theory--after all, you don't want the worlds smartest man on your case. "

"More like the world's best PR man," Will mutters. 

Nelson clears his throat. "Have you read Hollis's book?"

"Might've skimmed it in an airport," he says breezily. "Why?"

"According to Hollis, you were an East German strong man with, um, strange proclivities whose body was found in Boston Harbor in 1955."

Will's whole body shook when he laughed. Making Will genuinely laugh-- not a wry chuckle or sardonic snort, but a real honest to God laugh-- was so rare that Nelson always savored the sound like it was the New York orchestra. He joins in.

The waitress brings them their plates of bacon and eggs, and their laughter dies down. 

"It's funny how they all thought my costume was some sex thing," William says, voice light, but there's a slight menace to his words. "Think that says more about them than me."

He's dying to ask William the meaning behind his costume. That was one thing they never discussed during their relationship. Yet he hesitates. Maybe they didn't discuss it for a reason.

"Nothing against Hollis," Will goes on, "but he never knew when to keep his mouth shut."

"I had to call him on the verge of tears to stop him from publishing more details about...about us," Nelson says. It hadn't been the _verge_ of tears, but William doesn't need to know that. 

He and Will rarely broached the topic of "us," never defining the relationship that consumed Nelson's life for sixteen years. They had to keep it secret, for one. For another, Will was a married father for most of it. Friendship is what he called it in his will. "He was a very good friend," is how he explained it whenever anyone questioned him about Hooded Justice. He always hated it, just a little bit, but that hatred paled in comparison to the terror of being found out.

Will frowns. "Yeah. Sally wasn't too happy with some of the stuff he said."

"Mm," Nelson goes. "That's a bit of a pot-kettle situation. Sally basically outed me in her latest interview, without naming any names. It's was still abundantly clear who she meant, though."

"She probably didn't think it mattered, since we all thought you were dead." Will says that last part with an edge to his voice.

"I don't really blame Sally," he says, eager to avoid _that_ conversation again. _Keep it light, Nelly._ "Did I use that term correctly? Outed?"

"How should I know?" Will says through a mouthful of eggs.

"You're the one who lived in San Francisco."

"Yeah, but I wasn't hanging around that scene. Not that much, anyway. I know as much about the counterculture as you do."

Nelson feels warm, and it has nothing to do with his coffee (which is lukewarm now, anyway). He has no claim on Will's heart, and it certainly isn't his business if he's had any dalliances (Lord knows Nelson hasn't refrained). Still. He's glad all the same.

Will glances at the window. "You know, it's a good thing for the young ones coming up. That they have a community that's putting up a fight. Maybe it won't be as hard for them as it was for us."

He's surprised that Will's bringing it up. This is the closest he's ever heard his former lover come to acknowledging that he was a man involved with men. Not that he ever expected him to; after all, Nelson rarely verbalized it either, thanks to his years of keeping it secret. Even now, as an old nameless man with nothing left to lose, he couldn't completely let go of his fear.

"Yes," he mumbles, "it is."

Will insists on paying. "Technically it's your money," Will says when Nelson resists. Now that brunch is over, he's not sure what to do with himself. At the diner, they had a good report going. But now what happens when there's nothing to do? Will William come to his senses and get sick of the tag-along?

"Wanna see how I spent your money?" Will asks. They journey through New York's mobbed streets, as much an adventure as his days soldiering through the jungle.

Will explains that he auctioned off the Minutemen memorabilia for the Southern Poverty Law Center. "That was a good idea that you had," he comments, "so I did it. Altogether, it came to nearly a million."

William doesn't mention the one piece of memorabilia he's kept, so Nelson doesn't either.

They stop at a grand old movie theater, the kind that was popular when Nelson was a boy. It looks as if it's been recently touched up, casting an impressive figure. William looks at him expectantly. 

"You bought a theater?" Nelson says. Well, it makes sense; Will was always a cinephile. 

"And fixed it up," he says proudly. "When I first started working here, it was a dump. Now it's the most profitable historical theater in the borough."

William gives him the tour.

"We play all kinds of films here. The modern stuff, but we also show classics. There's theme nights, too. Some of the kids get all dressed up for some of the showings, but I don't know much about that. If we hurry, there's a showing I want you to see."

William takes him to a projector room. There's a smattering of people in the theater below, maybe a dozen scattered along the wide rows. A young white man with wiry long black hair sits by the projector, loading up a reel.

"Mr. Reeves?" he says, more politely than his appearance would suggest. He looks curiously at Nelson.

"You can take an early lunch break, Don," Will says. "I've got it from here."

"Thank you, Mr. Reeves!" the youth says. He doesn't hesitate to take him up on the offer.

The movie starts. It's a black and white, silent picture that takes Nelson back to his childhood. A man chases another on horseback, his face obscured by a hood. 

"This is that film you always talked about," Nelson says. " _Trust in the Law_ , was it?"

"I'm surprised you remember," Will says. Nelson's a little offended by that. But only a little, seeing what an ass he'd been before.

He also remembers that a young Will was watching this movie when a race riot broke out in Tulsa. William mentioned it once, early in their relationship. At the time, Nelson privately assumed that Will was exaggerating; he was only a child when it happened, so surely it couldn't have been as bad as he said. Or perhaps, if it was bad, than it was somehow...justified. Now, the memory sickens him. He wishes he could go back in time and knock some sense into his younger self.

"Didn't it inspire you to become Hooded Justice?" he asks. The flicking black and white light casts shadows on their faces.

"Partly," Will says. He looks directly at Nelson. "I never did tell you what made me put on the mask that first time."

Nelson feels cold. There's a shift in Will's tone that seems to change the very air around them. It feels ominous. 

"It started with Cyclops," he says with a faraway look in his eyes. "Though I didn't know it at the time. I arrested a white man for throwing a Molotov cocktail at a Jewish deli. When I brought him in, some other officers took him off my hands, saying they'd book him. Days later, I saw the same man walking free.

"I was told not to question it. But I couldn't let it go. So one night, when I was walking home, three of my fellow officers jumped me in an alley. They beat me, forced me into their car, and drove to a secluded area. They tied my hands together, put a bag over my head and a noose around my neck, and strung me up from a tree."

"What?!" Nelson gasps. His hands ball into fists, clenching his pants leg. How is this the first time he's hearing about it?

"I struggled and kicked. I felt myself chocking to death. I was so sure I was going to die. But they cut me down. I was a crumpled mess on the ground, sputtering and coughing, when the officer yanked the bag off. He got right up in my face like this," William leans so close that his breath's in Nelson's ear.

He whispers what the officer told him that night, directly into his ear. Nelson feels sick to his stomach. He wants this to stop now. But willful ignorance won't change what's been done to Will.

Will leans back. "I walked home in a trance, with the noose around my neck and the bag in my hands. Couldn't tell you what I was thinking, even if I wanted to. Guess you could call it being on autopilot. As I got close to home, I heard a lady screaming in an alleyway. A couple was being robbed. I didn't think. I ripped eye holes in the bag and put it back on. Then I beat the robbers to a bloody pulp. They weren't the ones who wronged me, but it felt so good to act. To have _power._ To bring justice, even if it was justice for something as small as a mugging. 

"The next day, I saw it in the newspaper. They called me a hero. And well, you know the rest."

William looks off at the screen, where the townsfolk cheer for Bass Reeves.

"William..." Nelson says weakly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Without looking, he says, "Would it have made a difference back then?"

He wants to say yes. Yes, of course it would have. If Will had told Nelson about being _lynched,_ for God's sake, then Nelson would've cared. Even when he was at his most racist, he still would've believed the man he loved. Wouldn't he?

But then...he'd had doubts about Tulsa. He hadn't believed Will then. William tried to tell him many things over the years, tried to open his eyes, yet Nelson remained willfully blind until it was too late. Until Will's absence finally caused him to reevaluate those beliefs. So if William had told him about being lynched in 1939, would it have been enough to finally make Nelson change? Or would it have been another Tulsa?

"I don't know," he croaks, mouth dry.

"Yeah, well, this way we never have to know the answer," Will mutters.

The words resonate with Nelson. If they knew the answer, then well, maybe they wouldn't be having this conversation right now. There were some things that William could never forgive. Perhaps they both needed the deniability.

Hesitantly, Nelson puts his hand on William's knee. William lets him. "I'm so sorry, Will. I'm sorry it happened, and I'm sorry that you couldn't tell me. I should have been there for you. I should've...God, I wish I could change so much. And I want to kill those officers." 

William finally looks at him.

"Don't worry," he grunts, "I killed most of them, the night of the warehouse fire. When I called you about Cyclops mind control."

"Oh," Nelson mumbles. Regret hits him all over again. _Why_ hadn't he listened to William back then? To think how different there lives might have been if he had. "I should've listened to you. I should've helped you get the bastards. I'm--I'm sorry I was such a racist little prick."

"I always know you're serious when you start cussing," Will says wryly. 

Nelson snorts. It comes out more like a sniffle.

"Don't tell me you're crying again," Will says, but he can't help it. The nicer William is to him, the worse he feels. We wishes Will would scream at him or strike him, _anything_ that would make them even. The house doesn't feel like enough. The money isn't enough.

"I'm sorry," he says, again, rubbing at his tear-stained cheeks. "I didn't--I'm not--"

"You're not making any sense," he says. "Nelson, calm down."

"I just want you know," he says shakily, "that it wasn't the mask."

"What?"

"It wasn't the mask I fell in love with. That's not true. Maybe I didn't show it the right way, maybe I was too selfish and blind to treat you the way you deserved, but it was never the mask. I really did love you, Will. Please believe me."

"Nelly," Will says softly.There's no anger in his beautiful brown eyes, no hatred. They're softer than usual, showing something that Nelson won't dare read.

Will's hand cups the back of his head, fingers gripping his hair in a way that's a little rough and a little tender, just like he remembers. For a moment, they stay like that, faces bent towards each other, eyes locked on one another. 

He's not sure who initiates it, but when their lips meet it's surprisingly gentle. Their first time was all raw passion; their last, bittersweet. This is something new entirely. William pulls him closer, deepening the kiss, as the movie plays in the background.

Nelson can't bring himself to care about anything else. 


	4. Chapter 4

Nelson's heart sped up when he heard the knock that evening, just as he was getting ready for bed. He flattened his hair and plastered on his most winning smile.

William Reeves stood in his doorway. No, _Hooded Justice_ stood in his doorway. A man that, only days before, still seemed more of a legend than human. He scrutinizes the young black officer. He _was_ handsome. And his physique was perfect.

"Ah. Good evening, Officer Reeves," he said. "This is certainly a pleasant surprise."

"Will is fine. I'm sorry if this isn't a good time, Mr. Gardner, I have a busy schedule so--"

"No, no, it's perfectly alright. Come in. I'm going to insist that you call me Nelson. Or Nelly--that's what my friends call me."

He takes Will to his study. Fortunately, the maid had just cleaned it. He wished he'd worn a more flattering shirt, one that better sculpted his chest.

 _Cool it, Nelly,_ he told himself. He'd never gone to pieces over a man before, hadn't felt so flustered since his first crushes in boarding school. But then, William wasn't a normal man. He was the first costumed hero, the biggest celebrity in his newfound profession.

"Make yourself comfortable, Will. I'll get you a drink."

As his back was turned to pour the drinks, he said, "Has Hooded Justice considered my offer?"

He turned around, holding out the glasses. Will was still standing. There was a determined glint to the other man's eyes.

"I think we can drop the pretense, Nelson."

"Right then," he said, placing the glasses down on the coffee table. "Have _you_ considered my offer?"

"I'm more interested in what you said about true companionship," Will says.

They lock eyes.

 _Well, if that's how he wants to play it._ Nelson bridges the gap between them. William's unblinking gaze is a challenge, a dare. But there's something else there, in those dark depths, longing mixed with exhilaration and fear. Heart hammering, Nelson grabbed William's face, his palms cupping his cheekbones, his fingers brushing his hair, and pulled their lips together.

He meant it when he called William beautiful, hours later as they lay in bed together, William's clothing askew, Nelson stark naked and unashamed. He also meant it when he said the others were not as "tolerant." He didn't need to imagine Larry's reaction to adding a black hero to the group. It would be a PR disaster, a marketing nightmare. If it ever got out that the very first costumed adventurer was a colored man, it would tarnish the entire profession in the public's eye. So Nelson thought nothing of telling Will to hide; after all, as a gay man, Nelson knew that living with secrets and lies was the only way to survive in this world.

Growing up, Nelson's experiences with black people were scant. There were the resentful and frightened Haitian natives from his military days; episodes of _Amos 'n' Andy_ he caught on the radio; and his first boyhood experience in the cinema, watching _Birth of a Nation_. William was his first meaningful experience with a person of color. And boy, did he try to upend Nelson's world. The things he said about Tulsa and Cyclops and his fellow officers, it was all too much. It was at such a conflict with the American values he'd risked his life to defend, of the hardworking families who bettered themselves through their own gumption. Besides, going after Cyclops would damage their brand, something William never understood.

It's not like he was racist. How could he be, when he was having sex with a black man--no, when he was madly, head-over-heels in love with a black man. It's not like he was one of those kooks parading around in a white hood, or a hick throwing rocks at protesting schoolchildren. He was a _realist._ Tolerant but also realistic. Moderate. Middle of the road, who saw both sides.

After a fashion, Nelson convinced himself that it didn't matter, because Will was different anyway. Will was an extraordinary being, after all, well beyond the scope of most men, black or white. It just went to follow that he was different from the rest of the black community. Nelson compartmentalized it in his mind, Will in his own box and everyone else in another, never crossing over or conflicting.

That is, until it was too late. 

"I could fall asleep," Nelson says, staring up at the ceiling. He turns away, onto his side, so he's facing William, who despite his age is just as gorgeous as ever. "That took a lot out of me."

"What, you aren't ready for another go around?" William asks. He bursts out laughing at the incredulous look on Nelson's face. "I'm only kidding. I know you're an old man now."

"Old man? I'm not _that_ much older than you." He peers at William's face. Though his hair is graying, there aren't many wrinkles on his face yet. He's almost jealous. "How old are you now? Sixty-two? Sixty-three"

"Sixty-one," he says. "I think. My records were all destroyed in the fire, and I was only a little kid at the time. My foster family made their best guess as to my birthday. It didn't help that I gave my last name as Reeves instead of my real family name."

"Our childhoods were so different," Nelson breathes out, almost in awe of it.

"What, you're just realizing that now?" William says. Although there's a heaviness between them, they both chuckle at the absurdity of the comment. 

"I never thought we'd do this again," Nelson practically whispers.

"Neither did I," Will says. "Especially because I was under the impression that you were _dead_."

He groans. "Are you ever going to get over that?"

"No. Never. You still owe me for that."

"I gave you a mansion," Nelson points out.

"You gave me a mansion as penance for the racism," Will says, but his tone is more conversational than the harsh words suggest. "This is an entirely separate matter."

"I'll give you a foot rub," he says.

"Think bigger."

He wants to tell Will that he will spend the rest of his life making it up to him, but he hesitates. That would be awfully presumptuous. Going to bed with Will, being able to talk like old times, was already more than he dared dream. Maybe, for William, this was a last hurrah, a send off to what they once had before they part ways again. Nelson doesn't dare broach the subject.

"You showed me your theater," Nelson says. "What else have you done with your inheritance?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Will. I've never met a person as committed to fighting injustice as you. I know you must be up to _something_."

It was one of the reasons why he gave Will everything. Nelson might not be able to change his past, but he could help William in the future, by financing his noble work.

"I'm retired," Will says. His guarded tone makes it obvious he's lying. He must not trust Nelson with the truth. It hurts, but he can't blame him. 

They lay in uncomfortable silence.

"Come on," Will finally says, slapping Nelson's leg as he sits up. "If we don't hurry, we'll miss the fireworks."

"Don't bother, Will, I know you don't care about that sort of thing."

"But you do," he says, which is true enough.

After getting dressed, they make their way to the rooftop. The cool evening air is rejuvenating after the day's heat. It jolts him awake as much as any cup of coffee. He hears rock 'n' roll play from somewhere nearby. There are other groups on other rooftops, all mesmerized by the red and blue sparks exploding in the sky.

He and William stand close enough to hold hands, though they don't touch. 

"Do you ever think about the old days?" Will asks.

"Too often," Nelson says. "There's so much I'd do differently if I had the chance."

"It wasn't all bad," Will mutters, looking away. "Sally's told me about your reunions. Sometimes I regret missing out."

"You would've hated it," Nelson says. "A bunch of old farts past their prime, reminiscing about the good old days. 

"Hmm," Will goes. Nelson has no idea what that means. "Still would've been nice to see Byron again."

After Nelson and Sally, Byron Lewis was the Minuteman Will had been closest to. The three of them were the only ones who knew Will's identity, though Byron only found out because he walked in on them once (in what was one of the most humiliating moments of Nelson's life). For a while, Nelson had even been jealous of Byron. He'd often suspected that Mothman and Hooded Justice sometimes went off on their own crime fighting missions.

"I don't think he would've wanted you to see him like that," Nelson says.

"You're probably right," Will says sadly. "Hey, remember that time he punched you in the face?"

"No, I'd forgotten," Nelson says. Will chuckles. William hadn't heard what Nelson said to earn Byron's ire--something he was immensely grateful for. "I deserved it, though."

"You're damn right you did," Will says. So maybe Byron had told him after all.

Fireworks burst overhead, casting them in a dazzle of red and white light.

"Do you ever think about Ursula?"

Will certainly was determined to drudge up the most depressing topics. It really was a blessing that he didn't go to the reunions.

"Of course," Nelson mumbles. _All of the time._ After William, Ursula Zandt was his greatest regret. 

"I think about her a lot," Will says. "I should've been there for her. Should've spoken up for her. I did wrong by her."

"We all did. It wasn't your fault, Will. You had the most to lose if it came out--and you had a family to think of."

"It still wasn't right," Will insists, as stubborn as always. "I didn't have to fake it so hard with the Hitler shit. Especially after what she did for those kids--she was a good person. A genuinely good person."

It was true. Out of all the Minutemen, Will and Ursula had the most in common: they were both persecuted minorities (Ursula was an Austrian Jew), they were both so intense, and they were both committed to the pursuit of justice over fame and glory. Yes, it was a shame that they never became friends--that by following Nelson's advice, they missed out on a real connection. 

"You're right," Nelson sighs. "But out of all of us, you carry the least blame. Please don't torture yourself over it."

William is silent as a half dozen explosions go off in rapid succession.

"You'll get a kick out of this," he says. "Last I heard, my son was a Marine."

Will's right: he does feel an odd kinship, bordering on pride, with his fellow Marine. It's foolish; Nelson never even met the boy. 

"Have you reconnected with your son?"

William's face clouds over.

"No. June told me that back in '71. That's the last I heard from her. She sends me postcards once every several years."

"I'm sorry," Nelson says, regretting ever bringing it up.

William grimaces. "Not your fault. I only have myself to blame."

That isn't strictly true. If William Reeves never met Nelson Gardner, if he never joined the Minutemen, then he'd still have his family.

"What are your plans after this?" Will asks.

"I haven't thought about it," Nelson says. Here they go, finally getting around to it. "I might head west again. Maybe try Arizona or New Mexico."

William doesn't immediately respond. Well, his silence is an answer in and of itself. At least now, Nelson knows where they stand.

"Nelson," William says slowly. "What made you finally change?"

He's rehearsed this moment in his fantasies, imagined what he'd say if he could ever speak to William again. It's easier to do it in a fantasy than in real life, but he knows that he must.

"It was a slow process," he says, keeping his focus on the fireworks. "When you first left me, I felt sorry for myself. I blamed you, because I wasn't ready to look in the mirror yet. But the more time past, the more your absence, well, left a hole in me. I realized that the money and fame, that my ideals, didn't matter nearly as much as you did. That I...that I lost what I loved most in life, and maybe it _was_ my fault.

"At the same time, the Civil Rights movement was getting more attention in the news. It motivated me to try to learn more, so I started reading the works of black writers and activists, James Baldwin in particular. I started reading histories that were more critical when it came to race, and, well, like I said, it didn't happen over night, but it did open my eyes. I started to accept that everything you tried to tell me was true. So maybe you think I was being dramatic when I said I wanted my remains disposed of, but I think I was being honest for the first time in my life. I put more evil into the world than good, and I hindered your mission. There's not a day that goes by that I don't wish I could redo it all."

He glances at William from the corner of his eye. Nelson is dying to know what he's thinking, but William was always the kind of man who would let his thoughts be known when he was good and ready.

"There's something I need to show you," he says.

William takes him to a spare bedroom on the second floor. He takes a key from his pocket to unlock it. Odd. Why keep a spare guest room locked, especially when Will lived alone?

The question is answered as soon as he opens the door. 

The walls are almost completely covered up. There are maps of America, the country as a whole and individual states. Multi-colored pins are stuck into random spots. There are also newspaper clippings, and it only takes a quick scan for Nelson to spot a common theme: white supremacy and wealthy, powerful men. A large, strange-looking device sat on the desk. If Nelson had to guess, he'd say it was a giant flashlight. 

"You know me better than I want to admit, Nelly," he says. "I've been tracking a lot of prominent people throughout the country whom I believe have a connection to Cyclops."

"You've really done your research," Nelson says. "But what happens next? I--no offense, but you're not as young as you once were."

"I've learned how to use Cyclops' mesmerism. It's the flashlight over there." Will gives him the side eye. "You believe me?"

"Of course I believe you," Nelson says quickly. "But...why are you showing me this?"

William's gaze is pure intensity. "You said you wished you could change the past. Did you mean it?"

Nelson bites his lip. "Yes."

"I'm never going to stop hunting Cyclops. Either they die or I do. If you still want that do-over then prove it. Help me."

"You really want my help?" he asks in wonder and incredulity.

"That's why I suggested it," Will says. His eyes bore into Nelson's. "But I understand if you still want to travel."

"I don't," he says immediately. His cheeks flush-- _my God, Nelly, you're a 68-year-old man, don't_ blush--and he adds, "I mean, I've enjoyed the experience but I've seen enough. I'd rather help you."

It's partly a penance. But it will also give him a sense of purpose again. Maybe when he goes to bed at night, he'll finally feel satisfied that he had actually done something worthwhile with his privileged, sheltered life.

"If we do this," Will says, "than I need you to _really_ be with me. Question me if you think I'm making a tactical mistake or if I ask your opinion, but if you go against me, even once, we're through."

"I won't," he insists. "I'm going to make it up to you. Whatever you want to do, I'm you're man."

A small smile tugs at Will's lips. "Okay, I get it. You can't blame me for being cautious."

"I understand." He feels light. This is the happiest he's felt in years. "Where's your phone book? I should be able to find an affordable boarding house, though probably not this late at night."

"For someone so smart, you can be so goddamn stupid sometimes," Will says.

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to stay with me. Really stay this time. As in move in." 

"You really want us to...have a relationship?"

William's expression softens. There's sympathy there, a touch of understanding. This isn't easy for him, either.

"I've been alone for so long, Nel. It would be nice to have a partner again, in every sense of the word."

Nelson knows loneliness. He's been alone for so long that it's almost become a part of his identity. It's like a chronic back pain that he's learned to live with.

"And you really want to have that with me?" he asks. "I'm not fishing for compliments, Will, but given our history, isn't this risky for you? Are you sure you want this?"

"Nelly, did you ever wonder why I stayed with you for so long, even after the warehouse fire?" Will asks.

"Because the sex was so good?" Nelson says. William smirks, which makes his rare off-color remark worth it.

" _No_ ," he says. " I know I'm not great at handling my emotions. It's how I survived. How I carried on. I know I never said it before--"

"You don't have to say it," Nelson's quick to respond. His heart races. He's almost afraid to hear the words. It feels like William is on the verge of breaking a major taboo.

"I loved you," Will says. It's the first time he ever said it. Nelson is still an old romantic at heart, and it takes his breath away. "That's why I stayed as long as I did. It's why I'd like to, I don't know, do it right this time, if you're really committed to changing."

"Oh, William," he says. He's so overcome he could cry, but he keeps his composure. "I will spend the rest of my life, every waking day, making it up to you, if you'll have me."

"And you wonder why I call you dramatic," Will says.

Nelson smiles. This is more than he ever dared dream, more than he deserves, and this time he won't squander it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of Will and Nelson's relationship is based on Peteypedia. Here's the link to the Will of Nelson Gardner, which inspired this fic. https://www.hbo.com/content/dam/hbodata/series/watchmen/peteypedia/06/memo-the-will-of-nelson-gardner.pdf The idea that Sally knows Will's identity also comes from the will. Nelson briefly mentions that a "mutual friend" told Will about the Crimebusters, and Sally is the best candidate. Her daughter was in the Crimebusters after all, and her and Hooded Justice would've spent time together as a fake couple. Even though she was in it for the fame, I feel like Will would've gotten along with her no-nonsense personality.
> 
> The stuff about Mothman punching Nelson for making racist comments comes from the Watchmen Sourcebook. Because of that and his liberal beliefs, I thought Byron and Will could've been friends. The stuff about Ursula Zandt is from Before Watchmen, which obviously isn't canon in the HBO show, but I still thought I'd pick and chose what works for this fic. 
> 
> After this there's just an epilogue left. Thanks everyone who has read this so far, and please let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pure fluff, but after all the angst I think it balances out. Thanks everyone who has followed along with this story.

Nelson dreams he's held down by men in blue uniforms. A cluster of trees surround him, cut off from the city he's spent most of his life. The starlight peeking in from the treetops is the only thing to light up the scene before him. Three policemen drag a man to a tree. Despite the burlap sack covering his face, he knows it's William.

Nelson screams for him, but all he gets is a kick in the jaw for his trouble. He fights back with all of the strength of his Captain Metropolis days, but it's not enough. He can only watch, helplessly, as his lover is strung up over a branch, choking and kicking for his life.

Nelson wakes with a gasp. Sweat trickles down his face, though he doesn't know if it's from the nightmare or the July humidity.

"Go back to sleep," Will mumbles into his pillow, eyes still closed.

"William--" he pants. "William--I--" 

Will's eyes snap open. Without a word, he throws an arm around Nelson's shoulders, pulling him down against his chest. Although he's past his prime, William's body still feels strong.

He holds Nelson like that, wordlessly, for the rest of the night.

Nelson's life falls into a predictable routine. He goes for walks every morning. Sometimes, he walks Will to the movie theater (some days he even stays while Will works). Sometimes his walks are aimless wanderings, almost getting lost in the streets he once knew so well( then again, he patrolled those streets at night, not in the bright light of day). As a young man, Nelson planned everything meticulously, scoffing at the idea of wasting time; but it's nice, actually. Quite nice.

He's taken up gardening. His first attempts end in disaster ("For Christ's sake, Nelly, it's just flowers.") but he's come a long way since then. His cherry tomatoes aren't half bad, and the basil really gives his spaghetti sauce a kick. He's planning on expanding to zucchini and strawberries.

Cooking has been a hobby of his for years, one Will heartily approves of. Apparently William Reeves, a grown man of extraordinary talent, can't cook beyond fried eggs and bacon. To think that Will has spent the years since June left eating nothing but deli sandwiches and canned corn.

On the days that Will doesn't work at the theater, they plan to take down Cyclops, pouring over any document of lead they've scrounged up. Nelson may be old and out of shape, but when he and Will strategize he feels like a young hero again, only this time he's fighting real evil.

They still disagree from time to time, but it's not as bad as before. Usually it's little things, like whether tin cans can be recycled or if Nelson should just adopt the damn stray if he's going to give it so much tuna.The only blowout comes when Nelson suggests Will try to reconnect with his son.

"No," he says flatly. "He's made it clear that he wants nothing to do with me." 

"You said the same about me," Nelson points out. "He might surprise you."

"No,"Will says flatly, standing up. His darkened expression and forceful tone are a warning. 

Nelson doesn't bring it up again.

No matter how they spend the day, the evenings are always theirs. After finishing a dinner that Nelson most likely prepared("I swear you're trying to fatten me up," Will says), they retire to the living room, reading in shared silence or watching TV if a movie' s on. Will explains the details or technical aspects, seemingly determined to turn Nelson into a movie buff as well. Sometimes they play records from their youth. Nelson's wrinkles and weakened bones seem to fade away as they listen, the music transforming him back to when he was young and strong, when he thought that he and Will could do anything.

"Come on," Nelson says, spur of the moment, standing up and extending his hand to Will. "Dance with me."

"What makes you think I'd ever agree to that?" Will says. 

"Come on," he wheedles, voice high pitched and childish, not that he cares. "You never danced with me before, and it's always been my secret dream."

"Keep dreamin'," Will snorts. "I don't dance." 

"No one will see us. Are you worried I'll laugh at you if you step on my toes? Can't the fearless Hooded Justice handle a little dancing?"

Will stands up. "If it'll make you shut up."

William may have been a graceful fighter, but he was a stiff dance partner. It's like holding a mannequin in his arms.

"Haven't you ever danced with your wife?" Nelson teases as Will shuffles his feet awkwardly.

"Yeah but she's a woman," Will mutters. "Completely different feeling."

"Just calm down and follow my lead," Nelson tells him.

To his surprise, Will does.

**Author's Note:**

> After reading Nelson's will on Peteypedia, I couldn't get over how tragic his relationship with Will was. He didn't wise up until it was too late. So this is a what if to give them a little less depressing ending. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think.


End file.
